


may the bridges i burn light the way

by dr_zook



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Schwarz household, bespoke tailoring, mid-relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28288122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_zook/pseuds/dr_zook
Summary: I hope you're having pleasant Holidays, dear. Next year will be better! ♥
Relationships: Brad Crawford/Schuldig
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	may the bridges i burn light the way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indelicateink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indelicateink/gifts).



> I hope you're having pleasant Holidays, dear. Next year will be better! ♥

Schuldig is sitting on the trunk in their hallway, bent over to slip on his shoes. His egg-white dress shirt is tucked into clearly tailored dark navy-blue slacks, and partially hidden by a waistcoat-- clearly tailored by the same person who did the slacks.

It's unsettling Crawford. He has stopped on his way from the kitchen, and can't stop the soft, "Fuck," sliding from his lips.

Schuldig looks up, irritated. An unlit cigarette dangles from his mouth. "Huh?" he ventures.

"Why-- What are you wearing?" Crawford manages. He's proud his voice is not croaking or breaking. 

He has never seen his team mate wearing _nice_ clothing before. Schuldig has always been more the grungy T-shirt and flannel plaids guy. He has met him like that. They were teamed up like that. No vision has prepared him for _this_ , damn it. 

"You said I should dress up for the business meeting," Schuldig huffs. "I did what you say, fearless leader."

Crawford tries to concentrate on the rough wooden frame of the door beneath his fingertips.

Schuldig is buckling up his shoes; they're oxblood brown Jodhpurs. Sweat is breaking out at the nape of Crawford's neck. Shit, where did he get _those_ from?

"Are you alright?" The German knits his brow and lets his shoulders glide into the flawlessly tailored jacket; then he rises, looking expectantly. His whole posture has clearly changed, as if his old life, his grimy youth is pooling somewhere at his feet, ready to be stepped over. 

Crawford pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I am," he tells the now devilishly handsome young man in front of him. "I'm glad you have finally decided to listen to me."

"Don't count on it in the future, man." Schuldig pats down the pockets of his trousers. "Damn, forgot the lighter."

Crawford snags the car keys and turns to open the front door. "Here," he says and flicks a matchbox at Schuldig. "Let's go and not waste any more time."

"Hey, did you know what _matches_ are called in Dutch?"

Crawford halts in his stride and glances at him over his shoulder.

Behind him Schuldig looks intently at the box. " _Lucifers_ ," he says grinning, and strikes one with a flourish to light his cigarette. 


End file.
